


I Have a Theory...

by dirtylaundry



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Cute Kids, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Slash, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylaundry/pseuds/dirtylaundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clint is, for once, the rational one out of the relationship and Phil’s sanity is thoroughly questioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have a Theory...

 

“No, Phil,” Clint said, with clear exasperation. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth and _you’re_ usually the logical one.”  He shook his head and then motioned for Phil to hand over Baby Kate. Once the ten-month old child was safely nestled in his arms, she gave her mother a toothy grin, her steel blue eyes shining vivid and warm in the afternoon glow.

His questionably sane husband was sitting pretzel-legged in the living room. His back leant against their weathered couch, where Charles, their five year old son was unconsciously creating a tiny puddle of drool. His small frame was slack and Clint could see the grey Henley Iron Man tee rumpled in the process of tossing and turning, a band of pale belly slowly rising up and down.

Clint pulled his son’s shirt down with Kate still secure on his trim waist.

Charles’ twin, Jack, on the other hand was glued to the television, grounded on his stomach and elbows. His identical outfit (though with a Thor decal) was equally wrinkled, and wait-was that a spattering of Cheerios on his sleeve?

“Jack, don’t sit so close to the tv. You’re going to hurt your eyes at that angle,” Clint reprimanded.

Jack turned his head towards him, finally acknowledging his mother. “Hi ma, when you home?”

Clint smiled. “I just got back from school half an hour ago.”

“’Kay,” was the child's blunt response and Jack was facing the tv once again. Clint internally held an approaching sigh.

“Clint, honey, just listen.” Clint refocused on him. Phil repeated his last statement, “Suppose there is an alternate universe wherein _we_ are part of the Avengers. The evidence is right in front of us!”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously talking about that cartoon show? The one our kids watch every Saturday morning? I repeat, _cartoon show_.”

“Technically yes but I’m also talking about the movie adaptation,” Phil said, with excitement drumming through his veins. “You would be Hawkeye. For example, where did you get such extraordinary skills in archery? You were a professional archer for three years until—er, well you fell pregnant with the twins.”

“Yes, and I have you to thank for that.” Phil gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t regret any of it though,” Clint continued, to wipe that guilt-ridden face.

Phil smiled. “You even have Hawkeye’s blonde hair.” Clint glanced at the boys’ shaggy blonde locks and Kate’s dusting of the same fair-blonde hay. He kissed his girl’s matt of hair and decided to indulge in Phil’s wonky theories.

“Natasha would be Black Widow. There’s something mysterious about her. Maybe it’s the—“

Clint blinked. “Wait, what? Natasha…our nanny?”

“Yes! The red hair and those similar facial features to that Scarlett Johannsen girl. Natasha has that similar devilish ability to…maintain full control and composure. Like, how does she get our boys to bath without the usual hair-tugging and wailing that we deal with?”

Clint had to agree with him on that point. It was pretty freaky (and honestly scary) how she managed to do that every night. For Clint, ‘Boys, it’s bathtime!’ was synonymous to ‘hide and seek for two hours.’ Perhaps she had some hidden Russian _magiya_ or maybe it was just that patented glare of hers.

Clint scratched his head, “You know, if Natasha wasn’t away to visit family this weekend, she would kill us for referring to her as the devil.”

Phil gazed at him with all seriousness and a slither of panic. “What if she does kill us?”

 There was a moment of silence.

It was abruptly disturbed by Kate’s incomprehensible babble. Clint coughed. “Okay, so _hypothetically_ , if I’m Hawkeye and Natasha is Black Widow…then who’s the Hulk?”

Phil automatically replied, “Bruce.”

Clint furrowed his brows. “Bruce…bruce…Oh! Our family physician? Hmm, I don’t see it.”

“The Hulk is green. Sometimes Bruce turns green.”

Clint couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Bruce has hypochrondriac anemia. It’s different.”

“Hey, they both turn green. They are both doctors. They both have the same first name. Just like you and Natasha.”

He evaluated the information and tossed it around in his head for a bit. Now he was beginning to see the connections. “I guess that’s plausible,” Clint voiced out, gradually accepting Phil’s words.

“Okay, good. So just like how Tony Stark is Iron Man, our own Tony would replace him.”

Clint wracked his brain. _Tony, Tony, Tony_. “We don’t know any Tony, babe.”

“Yes, we do. He helped us multiple times. Tony’s assistance over the years got us to save thousands of dollars.”

Clint blanched. “Who is this guy?” _A past lawyer?_

“He’s that guy who you make googley-eyes at whenever you think I’m not looking. He’s the guy who told us that our car was reparable, so we didn’t have to rake over extra money to buy a new family van. You know, I really wish he would put on a freaking shirt when we visit.”

Clint’s body began to shake (in mirth?). Then he let out a roaring cackle, tears accumulating on the edges of his eyes. The sudden gut-busting laughter made Charles open his eyes for a second and then close. “Oh my god…Tony…Tony, the guy who runs the auto-body shop?”

Phil looked a bit disgruntled, a pale blush painted on his cheeks. Now he seemed reluctant to continue. “Yeah, he works on mechanics, just like Tony Stark.”

Clint continued laughing. His stomach was aching at this point. “I’m going to put Kate in her crib, okay? She’s starting to feel like a dead weight.” Clint was muscular but he knew this conversation was not going to end anytime soon and Kate had dozed off five minutes ago.  

When Clint came back to the living room, he could see Phil animatedly explaining so-and-so about Captain America to Jack. Their child was listening in absolute rapture, nodding intermittently. The mother-of-three could see a red, white, and blue shield flying across the screen. _Ah, so that’s why_.

“Alright, so who would play Thor?”

Phil and Jack’s striking blue eyes seemed to pierce right through him.

“Ah, Thor would be played by Thor.”

“Huh?” Clint blanched.

“Remember your bachelor party?” Phil kept his eye on Jack, who lost attention to his father, reverting back to his usual position in front of the screen. His bright eyes trailed after Captain America blocking Red Skull’s oncoming blow. “When we went to, cough, L-O-K-I’s Dungeon?”

Basking in nostalgic memories, Clint grinned and chirped, “Yep. Best decision of that night.”

“Right, and we had Thor…entertain us?”

“How could I forget?” Clint winked. “Ah, I could understand. I mean, the _dancer_ did play up his character perfectly in relations to Norse mythology, oh with the costume and props. Wow, even his speech now if I could recall. But I don’t think he could fit into your Avengers design.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t really have that _wholesome_ and pure image for a band of superheroes.”

“What do you mean?” Phil tilted his head in innocence.

“Phil!,” Clint hissed, turning a great shade of tomato-red. He didn’t want to explain, especially in front of the children (and he had a strong inkling Phil was just pulling his leg). “He…did _things_ with that hammer of his.”

Phil’s eyes were twinkling. “You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

Clint glared daggers but his growing smile didn’t hold up the appearance of rage. "Alright, now the only one who's left is Captain America." 

Phil could not restrain a smile this time. "Jack and Charlie's kindergarten gym teacher." 

Clint did not voice any complaints. Not only did Mr. Rogers look the part (he would not mind tapping that body) but the man also had a strong sense of justice. Clint saw him straightening out more kids at the jungle gym than in the military. “Now you’ve created the Avengers Initiative…but where do you fit in, love?”

Phil gave him a bland smile. “I would be Agent Coulson.”

“Aw, that is _adorable_ ,” Clint murmured, crawling onto Phil’s lap. His husband’s firm arms wrapped around him. 

“Because we’re the C-O-L-E-S-O-N family, right?”

Phil nuzzled against Clint’s neck, peppering a trail of kisses. “Yes, my dear Mr. Coleson. They are homonyms.”

Clint released another bark of laughter. Phil could feel the wobbly shakes reverberate through his husband’s body.

“What’s so funny?”

Clint leaned against him. “Hm? Just thinking. We’re a simple, ordinary family from Ohio with three beautiful children. You’re a CPA for the government and I’m an aspiring avian veterinarian in a grad program. Can you imagine us fighting against the world?”

“Well, I don’t see why not.”

Clint turned around to look at him, his thick legs (post-pregnancy) straddled his husband’s pajama-clad waist. “Babe, I love how creative you can get.” Oh no, Phil had that manic gleam in his eyes again. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything.

“I have another theory.”

Clint groaned and rested his head on Phil’s shoulder. He had the strongest urge to use the bow on him. If his husband uttered ‘theory’ one more time….”Ugh…”

“What if…our life…including our entire family and our friends, even our co-workers like Maria, was just a fabricated story written by an unknowing, omniscient narrator. Say, an author with a few screws loose. He or she is simply using our lives as fodder for sheer entertainment and a jolt for his or her personal amusement. We are simply characters in a story to gain this author some critical reviews.”

Clint raised his head and squinted at him. “That concept of yours sounds vaguely familiar. Were you watching Stranger Than Fiction?”

Phil gave him a blank stare.

Clint harrumphed. In a show of his astounding flexibility, he managed to reach for the tablet tucked under the coffee table while staying fixed in Phil’s comfortable embrace.

He quickly turned it on and went straight to the Netflix app, which was surprisingly _(not_ ) open.

“Under your ‘recently watched’ list, you have Stranger Than Fiction (glare, Phil looked away…that coward), two episodes of SuperNanny, The Bourne Legacy, The Hurt Locker, and…Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. Hey…the last three. They all have that Jeremy Remmer guy.”

“Renner.”

Clint folded his arms. “You like this _Remmer_ guy?”

Phil adamantly shook his head, silently gulping. “No, I just felt like watching some…action-packed movies.”

“Oh, I see. Well, those movies aren’t just _packed_ with action. That’s it. No more house-sitting for you anymore.”

Clint slapped Phil on the forehead and got up, fuming but still gently lifting Charles and swiftly carrying the bugger to his room.

Jack broke his reverie with the screen and watched the hand-shaped print slowly form on his father’s face.  

Phil sighed, patting Jack’s lower back. “I guess now’s not the time to tell him that I really am an agent for the government. Fury’s going to laugh his A-S-S off seeing this on my head.”

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> The name of Clint and Phil's daughter is based off of Kate Bishop from the Hawkeye Marvel comics.  
> Jack is the American version of Jacques, the Swordsman also in the comics'verse.  
> Their son Charles is based off of Trickshot (Barney Barton)'s real name. 
> 
>  
> 
> This story was formulating in my head while I was driving to school today. Once my professor began her three hour-long lecture, I got right to work. And by work, I mean writing this fic. Actually writing notes in class? That's laughable.
> 
> Please leave a comment or a simple kudos. Kudos are my favorite-both the digital and edible breakfast variety.


End file.
